


What Emily Knows

by azriona



Series: Hearts [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Children, M/M, Omega Verse, POV Child, POV Original Character, Parenthood, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:42:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azriona/pseuds/azriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily Holmes Watson, age 2-1/2, knows some things for certain.  That Daddy loves her, that Uncle Mycroft isn’t so scary, that there is no purpose to broccoli.  She isn’t sure about the new man in the flat at <i>all</i>.  A one-shot in the Hearts Verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Emily Knows

**Author's Note:**

> For a while, I thought this might have been the prologue to Heart3. And then it wasn’t. It takes place the day or two after John wakes up in The Heart in Him. Thanks to kizzia for the Brit-pick and to earlgreytea68 for the beta. Special thanks to Firefly on AO3 for sharing her memories with me, which directly influenced Emily here.
> 
> Thanks to all of you for waiting so patiently for Heart3. I promise, it’s coming – if not by New Year’s, then certainly before S3 airs in the US. I can also tell you that there’s definitely another one-shot that will appear as part of my [Advent Calendar Drabbles](http://azriona.livejournal.com/853261.html), so you’ll have that to look forward to as well!

These are the things of which Emily Holmes Watson is sure: 

Elfin is a real elephant; he just plays at being stuffed. When she goes to sleep at night, he wakes up and has madcap adventures with Sheep and Babbit. (Babbit is a rabbit, except Emily can’t say rabbit, so his name is Babbit. She heard Gran say “madcap”, and she doesn’t quite know what it means, but it sounds like it would be fun and a little bit frightening, and those are the adventures Emily likes best.) 

She goes to school nearly every day, and on the days she doesn’t have school, she has Daddy to herself. 

There is no purpose to broccoli. 

There is a new person sleeping in Daddy’s bed. He smells familiar, even though Emily has never met him. He looks a little like the photographs that line the walls, and he can play her song on the violin, just like Daddy sings it. 

Granny Aurora loves her and thinks she will be clever when she grows up. 

Gran loves her and _knows_ she is already clever, right now. 

Aunt Harry loves her and gives the tightest, warmest, squeeziest hugs. 

Uncle Mycroft loves her and isn’t the least bit frightening, no matter what Daddy says. 

Daddy loves her most of all, and she loves him most of all, and it’s just the two of them together, and that’s fine. 

She’s not too sure about the new man. 

* 

When Emily wakes in the morning, she takes Elfin by the neck and goes down the stairs. But Daddy isn't in the kitchen making breakfast the way he should be, the way he hasn't been in the last few days, and Emily stands in the doorway, mouth trembling just a little, because it's in the very early morning that she misses Daddy the most. 

She misses Daddy all the time, but it's different at other parts of the day. She's used to missing him when she sleeps and while she’s at school; it's when she wakes up or comes home and the act of missing him isn't alleviated by an enthusiastic greeting that she realizes just how much she misses him. 

What ought to happen: Daddy cooking breakfast in the kitchen and she comes around the corner and he turns to her and the smile lights up his face and he says, "Good morning, Emily!" And his arms fly open and she can run into them for a hug and a kiss and a cuddle, and then he takes her to the loo and gives her breakfast and she reads Elfin a story while Daddy clears the dishes and they get dressed and go to school. 

(Emily hasn't gone to the loo once since the first not-Daddy morning. She won't either, and no one can make her, because _Daddy_ takes her to the loo. They spent the whole of last weekend practicing, and Emily was very good at it, but she went to the loo with _Daddy_. Not Gran or Uncle Mycroft or Aunt Harry. _Daddy_. And she hates the nappies, they're scratchy and smelly and they make her feel stupid, but she decided this on the first not-Daddy morning and that’s _that_.) 

If it's not a school day, they go to the park or the zoo or a museum, or just for a walk if the weather is amenable. The weather is _always_ amenable except when it is snowing or hailing or tornadoing, and Emily has never seen the weather tornadoing. Teacher Holly says there are no tornadoes in London, but Teacher Holly also doesn't always read the words in the storybooks, preferring to present what Daddy says is a condensed version, so Emily thinks that Teacher Holly may have condensed tornadoes in London's weather patterns. 

Emily has determined that there are five school days, followed by two not-school days. Those are the Daddy Days. This is a very uneven sorting, and once she has enough vocabulary to explain this to Daddy, she intends to bring it to his attention so that he can fix it. 

On this particular day, the fifth morning without Daddy, and third one with the strange man sleeping in Daddy's bed, it is also the first non-school day, and non-school days are always Daddy Days. Unless they are Gran-days, or Aunt Harry-days. But mostly they are Daddy Days, and Emily believes that she is owed a Daddy Day. 

So looking in the kitchen, and seeing it dark and cold, and no Daddy in it, Emily stands in the doorway, holding Elfin around the neck, and her lower lip trembles, just a bit. 

Perhaps, she thinks, Daddy is still sleeping. 

Except the strange man, the Papa, is in Daddy's bed. If the Papa is in Daddy's bed, where would Daddy sleep? 

What would have happened when Daddy found the strange man in his bed? 

(Emily thinks of Goldilocks, who stole the porridge and broke the chair and messed up everyone's beds, and thinks with hope that perhaps Daddy would have scared the Papa away. Even if Daddy isn't scary like a bear, he can growl like one, and maybe the Papa wouldn't know Daddy was only playing pretend.) 

It is a quick run to Daddy's door, and Emily can open it very easily. She pushes the door open, eyes wide with anticipation, Daddy's name already on her lips. 

There is a body in the bed, but she can tell (she doesn't know how) that it isn't Daddy. It's the strange man, the Papa, and he is asleep, and he is smiling, and that's how Emily knows. 

The Papa, this horrible tall interloper who pretends he is Daddy by playing her song on the violin and putting her to bed and sleeping in Daddy's bed, has told Daddy to go away and never return, and she will never see Daddy again. Ever. Never ever never ever ever ever... 

Emily is going to be three years old one day and she is a Big Girl, everyone says so, and she is Very Brave and So Good and Such a Dear Child, but she knows everyone lies because she can feel the tears rolls down her cheeks. Big Girls who are Very Brave and So Good and Such Dear Children don't cry when they know their Daddies are gone forever. But she isn't crying, not exactly, because she's not making a sound, she's just letting the tears fall down her cheeks, so maybe she can still be a Big Girl. 

The Papa opens his eyes while Emily is crying. She sniffles, and clutches Elfin harder. 

"Emily," says the man, but Emily doesn't answer, because she has decided to hate him. He scared away Daddy. 

The man sits up, and he is wearing Daddy's t-shirt, and he smells funny, like something she should know. 

"Emily, don't cry," says the man, and he smiles. "Do you know what today is?" 

Emily shakes her head, because even if she is going to hate the Papa, Daddy taught her to be polite. Or tried to. Emily tries to remember all the things Daddy taught her. Be polite, wash your hands, turn off lights, eat your peas. 

"Today is the best day," says the man, and he gets out of the bed and scoops her up and carries her into the sitting room. Emily thinks about fighting him, but Daddy said Hitting Is Not Nice. 

"What do you want for breakfast? Toast? Jam? Eggs?" 

"Peas," says Emily, and the man gives her a funny look. 

"Peas," he agrees, and sets her down on Daddy's chair. "You can have anything you want today. Just say the word." 

Emily wants Daddy, but she can't say it just yet, not without bursting into tears. The man hands her a book and goes into the kitchen, where he starts rummaging in the freezer and banging pots and pans around. Emily curls into a ball and holds Elfin close, and peeks at the book. It isn't one of hers, with brightly colored photographs. There's a lot of words, and some drawings of bits and pieces of people's bodies, and Emily sees an odd drawing of someone's foot, or something that looks like someone's foot, because it's full of bones and muscles and no skin. 

"Be careful with the pages," calls the Papa from the kitchen. "Don't rip them, and if you see anything you don't understand, ask me to explain." 

Emily peers at the odd foot for another moment, and then looks at her own foot and wiggles the toes. She turns the page, and finds more body parts, this time on shiny pages, in bright reds and whites and oranges. 

She finishes the book just as the Papa is setting the table. Toast, and jam, and milk, and peas. Emily scrambles up into her chair, and ignores everything but the peas, and the man steals her toast and looks through the book of body parts, talking to her about muscles and bone structure and how Atrophy Will Not Be a Problem, It Was Barely A Week. Emily has no idea what he's saying, but he seems to enjoy talking so she concentrates on her peas. They make for a small, though satisfactory, breakfast, and she wonders if Daddy knows she is eating her peas and will be pleased enough to come home. 

Gran comes in as they are finishing, and before she's halfway through the door, the Papa is up like a shot with a happy shout. 

"Mrs Hudson!" he cries, and Emily's heart nearly stops. She slides down in her seat, suddenly afraid that the Papa will throw Gran out on her ear, send her away to wherever Daddy has been sent, and all at once her eyes fill with tears again. She can barely watch over the tabletop. 

"He's awake," the Papa is saying, and he hugs Gran very tightly, and his shoulders begin to shake. Gran is only a little surprised, and she chuckles to herself, and then pats the Papa's back. Emily recognizes the soothing rhythm of it; it's the same one Gran uses on her when she's had a strop. 

"I know, you said when you came home," says Gran. "Oh, Sherlock." 

"He's awake," says the man again, and he pulls away from her. His eyes are shining and wet, just like Emily's. "He’s sleeping, real sleep, and he was able to stay awake for twenty minutes by the time I came home last night." 

“Still in the ICU?” 

“Until this evening at the least.” 

"What are you waiting around here for, then?" says Gran, and pats his cheek. "Off with you." 

"Mrs Hudson, you are—" He can't finish, and grins at her, and goes back into Daddy's bedroom. 

Gran laughs and joins Emily at the breakfast table. "So, my duck, it's a lovely day, isn't it?" 

And the betrayal of Gran, who loves Daddy too, who thinks it's a lovely day when Daddy has been replaced by the tall man with the dark hair - Emily wonders if he is a witch, to put such a spell on everyone sensible, and how can they not all _remember_ that she has a Daddy? 

"No," says Emily, and buries her face in Elfin and refuses to drink the rest of her milk. 

* 

The Papa leaves shortly after, dropping a kiss on Emily's head on his way out. Emily tries to not care that he isn't even following the rules. If he wants to take Daddy's place, shouldn't he know that non-school days are Daddy Days? He's not supposed to run off, he's supposed to stay with her. She doesn't care, she doesn't, she doesn't, she doesn't. 

Gran does the washing up and helps Emily dress and brushes through her hair and puts it in pigtails, which Emily hates but Gran likes best. When Gran's not looking, she pulls them out and stuffs the elastics under the cushion. Gran notices - Gran always notices - but she doesn't say anything. 

Aunt Harry arrives just before lunch, and she is smiling and cheerful and happy. Traitor, thinks Emily, and refuses to look at her. 

"He's doing so much better," Aunt Harry tells Gran. "He's in and out of it, of course, but he knows his name and the prime minister, and he knows that Sherlock is home." 

"I'd have thought they would keep that from him while he's so weak!" exclaims Gran. "The shock, you know. Might put him right back under." 

"I think that was the plan, but he woke asking for Sherlock. He seemed to know already," says Aunt Harry, and her voice sounds funny, like she wants to be upset about it, but can't be. Emily knows the feeling. "And Sherlock seems to help. He's more awake if Sherlock's there." 

"Bonded," says Gran, with a nod. 

"Emily," says Aunt Harry loudly, and Emily tightens her grip on Elfin. "I think the zoo today, don't you?" 

"No," says Emily, but Aunt Harry doesn't hear. 

Most days, Emily likes the zoo. She likes the tigers and the giraffes and she likes the penguins. She likes running on the wide pathways, and she likes the tunnels that run under the road, running down with her stomach going all wobbly and then feeling the momentum carry her back up the other side. She likes running ahead and then running back to hold hands with Daddy or Aunt Harry. 

The sun shines brightly, and the air is the exact sort of crisp and cold that usually makes her feel as if she could never possibly be unhappy, or asleep, or bored. It doesn’t matter. Today, the sun might as well be tucked behind dark clouds because the only place Emily wants to be is huddled in her bed, blankets over her head, Elfin under her chin, waiting for Daddy to come home. 

Aunt Harry doesn't take any notice of her dark mood, and chatters on about all the animals Emily doesn't like. The snakes and the jellyfish and the warthogs and the kangaroos. Aunt Harry is fascinated by the birds, watches them fly and tries to pick out which bird is which, and Emily pulls the shade on the pushchair over her head and in front of her, blocking anyone from seeing her. She looks deep into Elfin's button eyes and imagines that it's just the two of them, hiding at home, and that it's the middle of the night and it's all right to miss Daddy, if it's the middle of the night, because she'll see him in the morning. 

"Emily," says Aunt Harry, and her voice isn't so high above the pushchair anymore; it's right even with Emily, and Emily can see Aunt Harry's knees on the pavement when she looks under the shade. "Are you hungry? We could have something to eat." 

"No," said Emily. 

Aunt Harry sits on the pavement. "Ice cream?" 

"No," says Emily, a little less certain. 

Aunt Harry doesn't say anything. She wraps her arms around her knees. Emily half wishes she could see her face, but that would mean lifting the shade, and Emily likes sitting in the dim red light. It's comforting in a way she can't describe. 

"I remember the first time I held you," says Aunt Harry. "You were so small. And you'd been screaming all day, and you'd fallen asleep, and I think everyone within a kilometer radius was relieved. John was asleep. He was smiling. I couldn't quite understand how he could smile with you screaming, but he did." 

John is everyone else’s name for Daddy. Emily knows that, and for a moment, is infinitely relieved, because if Aunt Harry is talking about Daddy, then maybe she can remember how to bring him back. 

"I watched you in that silly plastic hospital bassinet, and you were so quiet and sweet and determined. You kept working your hand out of the swaddle to hold your ear. We thought you'd twist it right off your head, you held it so tightly. And...I picked you up. John was asleep, but I didn't think he'd mind. I wanted to hold you, just the once, just to pretend - that things were different." 

Emily doesn't quite know what Aunt Harry means, but she listens anyway. 

"You are supposed to come to me, you know. If something happens to him." 

Emily doesn't understand that part at all. Emily goes to Aunt Harry's flat once every month or so, but mostly Aunt Harry comes to her. 

"It's better this way," says Aunt Harry, under her breath, so low that Emily can't quite hear it. "That he’s home. I know that, but – I don't like it." 

Emily peeks out from under the canopy. Aunt Harry's eyes are closed tight, and her mouth is a thin line on her face. She is holding her breath, and then she lets it out in one long stream. Aunt Harry looks a little like Daddy, doing that, when Daddy is quietly exasperated with her, but Emily doesn't think Aunt Harry is exasperated. Just a little bit sad, so Emily waits until Aunt Harry opens her eyes again, and then she darts back under the canopy, sure that Aunt Harry saw her watching. 

"Well, then," says Aunt Harry, and Emily knows Aunt Harry understands. "Do you want to show Elfin the penguins?" 

"No," says Emily, pleased because there will be penguins, and Elfin likes the penguins, and Emily knows that Aunt Harry understands what she means by “no”. Sure enough, Aunt Harry gets to her feet and pushes Emily in the direction of the penguins anyway. Elfin looks at the penguins, but Emily doesn't come out from under the canopy, and afterwards, they go back home for tea. 

There is a light on in the flat; Emily can see it from the bottom of the stairs. She leaves Aunt Harry with the pushchair in the hall and races up, _onetwothreefourfive_ all the way up to seventeen, and throws open the door, completely sure that Daddy waits on the other side. 

"Ah, there you are," says Uncle Mycroft, and Emily stands stock still by the door, still holding the handle, her eyes wide in shock. She backs out of the room carefully, and closes the door. 

When she opens it again, Uncle Mycroft is still sitting in the Papa's chair. He smiles at Emily, and then his gaze goes above her head. 

"Harriet," he says, nodding his head in greeting. 

"Mycroft," says Aunt Harry evenly. "Budge in, Emmy, it's drafty in the hall." 

Emily scoots in, but doesn't let go of the doorknob. 

Mycroft frowns, and Emily sticks her tongue out at him. He raises his eyebrows but says nothing to her about it. 

"Sherlock asked me to let you know he's ready for visitors." 

Aunt Harry is about to take off her coat, but she quickly slides it right back on. "Is he still in the ICU?" 

"For now," says Uncle Mycroft. "But he is awake and responsive, and everyone agrees—" Uncle Mycroft looks at Emily then, and smiles. "It's time." 

Emily holds onto Elfin tighter. 

"Emily," says Uncle Mycroft. "I think a ride in the car might be a good idea, don't you?" 

* 

Emily has never been in hospital, except for when she was born, and she doesn't remember because she was so small. Her first impression, one hand held by Uncle Mycroft, and the other clutching Elfin, is that the hospital is grey and white and full of echoes, and that it smells a little bit familiar, a bit like Daddy when he picks her up from nursery. Tangy and sharp and clean, and there is a small glimmer of hope suddenly. Emily holds her chin up high, and tries to keep up with Uncle Mycroft's long legs. When she stumbles, he scoops her up and carries her. 

Uncle Mycroft doesn't talk to her as they walk, and Emily watches the people they pass glance at the pair of them, before they turn away, smiling. 

There are long corridors, and odd smells from the rooms, sometimes sweet and sometimes sour, and once, Emily hears shouting from down a distant hallway, but Uncle Mycroft doesn't stop walking until they reach a set of double doors. He presses a button near the side, and waits. There are small windows in the doors, and Emily tries to peer inside, but can't make out very much at all. 

"You won't be afraid," says Uncle Mycroft to Emily, and Emily shakes her head, still trying to look through the windows. She can see a computer, and a row of cabinets, but otherwise it doesn't look terribly frightening, only a bit empty. 

There is a buzz, and the doors open. Uncle Mycroft carries her in. His footsteps echo on the floor, and Emily isn't afraid, even if her heart is pounding. They pass three rooms, and then they step inside the fourth. 

Emily's breath catches. 

"Emily," says Daddy from the bed, and Emily is out of Uncle Mycroft's arms before he can put her down, and she runs blindly to the bed, scrambles up the side. She doesn't feel the hands helping her up, or hear the voices telling her to be careful. She falls on Daddy, throws her arms tight around his neck, buries her nose into his chest. Daddy's arms wrap around her, and surely the pressure on the top of her head is his cheek, the kisses she feels on her forehead are from him. 

Emily closes her eyes, and holds tight. Daddy shifts under her, moves his arms around her, kisses her, talks to her. His voice is gravelly and rough, but she doesn't care. He is thin and smells a bit off, but she doesn't care about that either. No one tries to pull her away, which is good, because she has already decided that if anyone should try, she will kick them. 

After a while, she realizes there are other people in the room around them, and they are even talking to each other. She settles next to Daddy, under his arms, and rests her head on his chest. She listens. 

"...pulled a few strings." 

"Hardly," says Uncle Mycroft. "The administrative staff was more than willing to allow any approved visitors to John's room." 

"Meaning you've funded a new wing, undoubtedly," says the Papa, and Emily opens one eye just enough to see him. He is sitting on a chair next to Daddy's bed, one hand resting on Daddy's leg. Emily holds onto Daddy a bit tighter. 

"Not everything is about money, Sherlock." 

"Mark that down, John," says the Papa, and Daddy chuckles, and kisses Emily's hair. "A historic day, with that admission, Mycroft. Don't you have doctors or nurses to terrorize?" 

"I'll leave you to each other then," says Uncle Mycroft in an odd, acerbic tone that Emily hasn't heard before. "I won't be far." 

"The chocolate cake in the cafeteria is quite good." 

Uncle Mycroft pauses by the door. "I'll keep that in mind." 

Emily hears Uncle Mycroft's click-clack shoes down the hall, and the mattress under her tilts so that she finds herself falling into Daddy without even trying. 

"Sherlock," says Daddy. "This bed isn't built for three." 

"Emily's small enough, she barely registers," says the Papa, and there is another arm over Emily now, and a bit of shifting. Emily stays next to Daddy, gravity pulling her into him, and there's a new smell, a not-quite-familiar smell, and it mixes so well with Daddy's smell that Emily knows why she recognizes it. It's a good smell. She sighs with it, and two sets of arms pull her close, hold her snugly next to Daddy, keep them both safe and secure. 

"She's asleep," says Papa. 

"Not quite," says Daddy. 

"John..." 

"Hmm?" 

"Is...is this all right?" 

"I could use a larger bed," says Daddy. 

"I didn't mean about the bed." 

"It's fine," says Daddy. "It's all fine." 

Papa huffs, but Emily can't tell if it's laughter or something else. 

"You said to wait until you were lucid, before we brought Emily." 

"I'm lucid now. When did I say that?" 

"Maybe I dreamt it." 

Daddy's arms wrap around Emily a little bit tighter, and Emily pushes her nose into Daddy's chest, the scratchy thin shirt rough on her nose. She can hear his heart beat steady when she presses her ear to him, thump-tha-thump-tha-thump, and there's a blanket over her body, and it's warm and comfortable and the smells are all exactly right. Emily digs in, sighs in a happy way she's never sighed quite before, and falls asleep. 

* 

It's the cold air that wakes her, when Uncle Mycroft moves the blanket aside to pick her up. 

"No," she cries, softly, and reaches for her warm cocoon. Daddy is asleep, his eyes are closed and his face is lax, and it's dark outside the window. Emily isn't thinking straight, everything is foggy with sleep. 

Papa is lying next to Daddy on the bed, and his eyes open sharp. 

"Mycroft," he says, and his voice is a thin warning. "Leave her." 

"It's late," says Uncle Mycroft. 

"Leave her anyway." 

Emily is put back in the cocoon, and Papa throws the blanket back over her, rests his large hand on her head. Emily closes her eyes, pushes into Daddy, and falls back to sleep. 

* 

Emily wakes to voices. 

"She can ride with me." 

"Hospital regulations, Doctor." 

"She's asleep, she won't be a bother." 

"I'm sorry, Doctor." 

"I'll carry her," says Papa, and Emily pushes herself up, awake. The room is filled with sunlight, and strange beeping machines and Daddy sits up, stroking her hair. His face is grey and yellow and he looks as though he was in a fight, and it's a little strange and scary, but it's Daddy. 

"Here, Emily," says Papa, and Emily, half-remembered conversation in her mind, reaches for him and lets him pick her up. He still smells familiar, like last night sleeping, and she rests her head on his shoulder. 

There are other people in the room, and they swarm around Daddy's bed while Papa and Emily watch from the side of the room. They wear odd clothes, like oversize pajamas in blues and greens. They fiddle with tubes and wires and they talk in low voices with numbers and odd words and Emily can't understand any of it. 

"Daddy," she whispers, and her fingers clutch at Papa's shirt. 

"There, see," says Papa. "The nurses are preparing to move him out of the ICU. He's awake and responsive, and the doctors are confident that he can be moved to the wards safely. They're detaching the monitors and we'll be able to follow him, he won't be out of our sight. That monitor - do you see it? Watch the lines. See how they go up over and over? That's his heartbeat, it's measuring how many times his heart beats every minute. Do you know where the heart is, Emily?" 

Emily rests her hand on her chest, eyes wide. 

"Heart," she says, clearly, and Papa stops looking at Daddy, and instead looks at her, startled for a moment, before breaking into a smile. 

"Yes," he says, and his voice sounds funny, a little bit cracked. "Yes, that's exactly where my heart is." 

He sounds as if he didn't know it, and Emily reaches and touches his face. He's not crying, because she doesn't see tears, but his cheeks are a bit damp. 

"So," says Papa, and his voice is better now. "There are other things the monitor does—" 

"We're ready now," says one of the pajama people, and Papa shifts Emily on his hip. 

They walk through corridors, following Daddy in his wheeled bed, and Emily wishes she'd been allowed to ride, because it looks like fun. Emily wonders if she can have wheels on her bed at home. There is a lorry at school that might work for a bed, for the dolls, and Emily decides to play this game on Monday, if she can convince Trevor to let her play with any of the lorries; Trevor steals all the lorries, always. 

Emily is still mulling over the rules of the new game when they arrive in the new room. It's brighter than the old room, and there are more chairs and fewer machines, and the pajama people cluster around Daddy's bed again, fussing in the exact opposite way that they did earlier. Daddy sits in the middle, looking impatient and tired, and a few times he asks questions, speaking the same odd words that the rest of the pajama people do, and they understand him and answer back. 

Papa sets Emily down on one of the armchairs by the window, and glances out with a frown. 

"Line of sight," he mutters, and starts to close the shades. 

"Leave them, Sherlock," says Daddy over the pajama people. 

"But—" 

"It's fine," says Daddy, and Papa opens the shades again, but Emily can tell he doesn't want to do it, because he's moving in the slow way she does when it's time to put toys away for bed. 

Daddy falls asleep before the pajama people have finished, but Emily knows it is more of a doze than a real nap. Papa waits until it is just the three of them in the room, and then he closes the door and drags the stool over to Emily's chair. He sits opposite of her, hands on his knees, and there is a concentrated frown on his face. 

"Emily Holmes Watson," he says softly, and Emily sits up straighter in the chair. Papa looks at her the same way that Uncle Mycroft does, like he can see exactly what she's thinking. Only, when Uncle Mycroft does it, Emily feels prickly. For some reason, she doesn't feel half as exposed when Papa looks at her so boldly. She almost likes it, and thinks maybe she won't have to explain herself to Papa, the way she sometimes has to explain herself to Uncle Mycroft or Aunt Harry or Teacher Holly at school. 

“Mrs Hudson thinks you should return to Baker Street for the day.” 

Emily glances at Daddy, and Papa understands. 

“He will have to remain here for now. He may be able to come home on Tuesday, but not before.” Papa makes a face. “Ridiculous, he’s awake now, he’s lucid, he could leave now but he won’t.” 

“Stubborn,” says Daddy, eyes still closed. There’s a bit of surprise on Papa’s face when Daddy speaks, and Emily thinks quite smugly that he hadn’t realized Daddy was still awake. She scrambles down from the chair and climbs up on Daddy’s bed again, using the various rails and cross-bars as a ladder. 

“John,” says Papa. “You’re meant to be resting.” 

“I am,” says Daddy, and Emily manages to make it to the top of the bed. She kneels, and reaches to touch the bruises on his face. 

“Ouch,” she says when he winces, and he smiles at her. 

“Kiss them better,” he tells her, and Emily leans forward and does, great big, smacking kisses because she knows those are the kind he likes best. 

“Careful,” says Papa behind her, when she leans onto Daddy’s chest, but Daddy doesn’t say anything, only grunts a little, and Emily wraps her arms around Daddy’s neck. 

“Daddy,” Emily whispers to him, wondering if the Papa can hear. “He sleeps in _your bed_.” 

Daddy doesn’t laugh. This is one of the reasons Emily loves him. Emily expects Daddy to suck in a breath and tell the Papa that he isn’t allowed, but he doesn’t do that, either. 

“Yes,” says Daddy. “He does.” 

Emily sits back on her heels. “He’s my Papa.” 

“Yes,” agrees Daddy. “He is.” 

“He—” Emily glances back at the man with the dark hair again, a little less certain, a little more cautious, and her voice drops back down to a whisper again. “He _touched the violin_.” 

“Ah,” says Daddy, eyes going wide, and Emily nods solemnly, glad that Daddy finally understands the seriousness of everything. “Did he play you a song?” 

“Yes,” says Emily. “He played _my_ song.” 

Daddy looks surprised for a moment, and glances at the strange man over Emily’s shoulder. “Did he play it right?” 

Emily thinks. “He didn’t sing.” 

“Didn’t he?” Daddy frowns. “He might not know the words.” 

“I liked it.” 

“Then perhaps he can just play, and I’ll sing,” says Daddy, and Emily nods. “Should we keep him, do you think?” 

Emily considers this. “On trial,” she says finally, and Daddy smiles. “I’m hungry,” she adds, tugging on the thin cotton shirt he’s wearing. 

“I’ll find something,” says Papa quickly, and he leans over the bed, pausing for a moment, as if about to drop a kiss on Daddy’s cheek, but he hesitates, uncertain, and brushes Daddy’s hair aside instead. He looks at Emily, and she knows he wants to give her a kiss as well. She isn’t sure she wants him to, not just yet, and instead he touches her hair, just the tips of his fingers, and it tingles pleasantly. 

“Do you think you can like him?” asks Daddy, while he is gone, and Emily doesn’t answer but tells him about her week, and what Trevor did to be put in the Calm Down Corner for an entire afternoon, and what Teacher Kelly said about walruses, and how many times Gran had given her hugs, and the way Aunt Harry had got lost on the way to the zoo. Daddy listens to all of it, eyes closed sometimes, and doesn’t say very much, but he keeps his arms around her, and sometimes hugs her tightly, and sometimes Emily thinks he might have fallen asleep, but she doesn’t mind, because he wakes up again after a minute or two, and she waits for him to wake before she continues her story. 

It’s later, as she tucks into the breakfast Papa has found for her, and looks out the window and counts the cars on the road outside, when she listens to Papa and Daddy talk. They’re holding hands, and even if Papa isn’t on Daddy’s bed, he’s very close. 

“How did you know her…” Daddy’s voice stops abruptly, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see Daddy frown, and hit his leg with his fist. 

“Talk around it,” says Papa. 

“Sleep…music…words…” says Daddy, frustrated and irritated like when Emily has knocked over the milk after a very long day. 

“Lullaby. I knew because you told me,” says Papa. 

“I did? Was I talking in the coma?” 

“I dreamt it. We had entire conversations while I was asleep.” 

Daddy is quiet for a moment. “Mrs Hudson told you.” 

“John. No. You did.” 

“Funny thing, imagination.” 

Papa clears his throat. “Just because it was my imagination, doesn’t make it any less real.” 

There’s a squeaking noise as Daddy shifts on the bed. “Have a lot of time for pop culture while you were away?” His voice sounds a bit hard now, and bitter, and gives Emily a cold feeling in her chest. 

“You said something like that in my dreams, too, when I questioned whether or not they were real. And you said to tell you when you woke, because I didn’t know what you meant.” 

Daddy is quiet; Papa doesn’t say anything either. The cold feeling in Emily’s chest slowly melts. She slides down on the chair until she can curl into a ball, and clutches Elfin tightly. 

“I dream about you,” says Daddy. “You never make any sense.” 

“John—” 

“No,” says Daddy quickly. “Emily’s falling asleep.” 

Shuffling, and steps, and Emily, eyes half closed, feels someone pick her up. Ash and musk and wool, and Papa is carrying her across the room, putting her in Daddy’s bed. She pushes her nose into his familiar warmth, and there’s some more shifting, and Papa climbs in after her, so that she is curled between them, warm and safe. 

“Emily Holmes Watson,” says Daddy, his voice thick and heavy like cream pouring slowly from a jar, “I want you to meet your Papa. His name is Sherlock Holmes.” 

“H’lo,” says Emily, and closes her eyes to sleep. 

* 

These are the things of which Emily Holmes Watson is sure: 

Trevor will always steal the lorries at school. 

Uncle Mycroft and Aunt Harry and Granny Aurora and Gran all love her. 

Daddy loves her best, and she loves him best, and once, when she was very small, it was the two of them against the world. 

There’s a new man sleeping in Daddy’s bed. He smells familiar, and he plays her lullaby on the violin and he doesn’t know the words, but that doesn’t matter because Daddy can sing them. Emily doesn’t know quite what to make of him, but there’s three of them now, against the world, and Emily wonders what her Papa thinks about penguins.


End file.
